A Place in the Game
by LFVoy
Summary: In years to come, they'll look back on this as the summer when everything changed, even though they don't realize it at the time. Four character vignettes. OC-centric future fic, set a few months after "Family Secrets" and part of the "Their Fathers' Eyes" series, which is AU after 5x22 "Still." Slightly revised in March 2015.
1. May

_Castle_ is the copyrighted property of ABC studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

**A Place in the Game  
**_Chapter One: May_

* * *

_It must be a Monday morning_, he mused. _The business suits are coming in._ Nearly everyone in JFK airport's British Airways lounge was holding signs that announced the name of whomever they were meeting. Many of them were dressed in chauffeur's uniforms or wore corporate logos on their shirts. All of them looked either ill at ease or slightly bored.

He wasn't holding a sign. He didn't need one. He also wasn't wearing a uniform, but the pressed shirt and clean jeans helped him fit in. Jay drummed one set of fingers against the other forearm, trying not to look at his watch. The last time he had, less than five minutes had passed from the previous check. _They're right. This is getting tedious._

But he'd promised he would be here.

He closed his eyes, banishing an errant thought about the mini-bar in the far corner. Not when I'm going to be driving in a little while. It was an excuse, but he'd accept any excuse he could use, and one thing he was adamant about — and proud of — was that he'd never gotten behind the wheel of a car when he wasn't sober.

Thankfully, it wasn't very much longer before the door opened, and she was one of the first through it. Jay stood up, holding out his arms, and she rushed into them. He wrapped himself around her, burying his face in her blonde hair, inhaling her scent. She pressed her face against his neck and held on just as tightly. It had been far, far too long.

They didn't speak at first. Around them, there was an increase in the noise level as other people in the lounge connected, meeting their parties, making arrangements and giving directions so that they could get wherever they needed to go, as soon as they could.

He and Liz weren't in any hurry. He closed his eyes, one hand drawing an aimless pattern on her back, and she made a soft, inarticulate noise. They stayed that way, swaying slightly, until the lounge quieted back down.

Taking a deep breath, Liz leaned back just long enough to look at him. "Hey."

He brushed his lips against hers. "Welcome home, birthday girl."

Her response to that was a chuckle. "That was last week, you know. Or is it too late and your brain's already pickled?"

He leaned his forehead against hers, brushing hair back from her forehead. "I missed you, too."

She reached toward his face. "You even shaved. And what's this? A collar?"

"Smart-ass. Don't act so surprised. I can clean up just fine when I want to." A smile touched his mouth. "And I know exactly when your birthday is. I even tried to call."

"I got your message, but I was just so busy." Liz shook her head. "God. It seems like the last month has been a whirlwind. Finishing up all my projects, saying the good-byes. It's hard to believe it's all just…over."

"Doesn't the Peace Corps give you some sort of — I don't know. Transition support?"

"They do," she answered, stepping back completely. "I have a whole list of places to go and people to see, starting on Wednesday. But the first couple of days are meant for…" she trailed off, and a wistful tone entered her voice. "They're meant for reunion with your family."

"You'll see them soon enough." He opened the lounge door for her. "Come on. How much luggage do you have?"

"This is it. We had to clear customs, remember? Everyone had to either keep their bags or re-check them."

He blinked at the single, somewhat tattered, suitcase she had brought with her into the lounge. "That's all? What happened to the person who left with three bags so full they strained the weight limit?"

"International shipping."

Jay broke into laughter and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her another hug. "Good one. God, I've missed you so much."

"Oh yeah? Then where are all the letters you sent me?"

"In my head."

"It's a miracle they survived, then," she shot back. "Your head's a scary place."

"Yeah, yeah. Keep it up." He led her across the parking garage toward his car. "You can always take the subway to — where are you staying, anyway? You never did tell me."

"Tommy's couch, for now," she answered, referring to her older brother. "I'm going to start looking for a place as soon as I get settled."

Startled, he turned to look at her. "You're staying with _Tommy?_ Is that smart? I told you in my message: you're welcome to stay with me."

"Jay." Liz' expression sobered. "You and I both know why that's a bad idea. I'll be all right for a few days. We don't hate each other."

He didn't like it, but she was right. There was no real conflict between her and her family; it was just that they were too different to stand being in each others' presence for very long. Liz had been the first one to move out after they'd started college, and had rarely spent more than three or four continuous days with her family since. Most of the time, there had been others present, such as during his family's annual Independence Day celebrations at the Hamptons.

"All right," he said, taking the suitcase handle out of her hands before she could try to put it into the trunk of his car herself. She gave him an exasperated look, but didn't argue, instead opting to open the door and slide down into the passenger seat.

"God," she muttered when he got behind the wheel. "I'm tired. I'm so tired I'm even glad to see this rattletrap."

"Rattletrap?" He put the key in the ignition and started it. "This thing is a classic!"

"You had to start it with a key. No fingerprint sensors, no auto-drive. Heck, it doesn't even have basic collision avoidance."

"It's a 2016! Those weren't even options back then."

"Like I said." Her eyes had drifted closed. "Rattletrap. You could have at least upgraded it when you were restoring it."

"And destroy the beauty in the original? This was Detroit at the very beginning of its comeback." He patted the dashboard. "Some people just don't appreciate a finely crafted machine."

"It's a car. It's designed to get you from point A to point B."

"There's a subway station right over there."

She cracked one eye, focusing it on him, calling his bluff.

Jay sighed and put the Challenger in gear, pulling out of the parking space. "Fine. You don't have to understand. Just be nice about it, okay? Don't insult her when she can hear you."

"You are entirely too emotionally involved with this thing."

"Beats some of the alternatives." He signaled and turned out of the garage into traffic. Even at midday during business hours, gridlock was always present in Manhattan. "It's not like I'm as bad as Marty and her bikes. She's up to three now."

"Three? Why? She can only ride one at a time."

"One of them's for Rory, actually. They just keep it at her place."

Liz opened her eyes fully and sat back up. "Yeah, he'd said something about that. So they're a serious couple, then?"

"Apparently. They've been together since January."

"Four months. That must be some kind of record for him." She shook her head. "And Marty? Of all people? That's…" she trailed off. "That's not what I would have expected, especially given what happened when she and Tommy broke up." The bitter recriminations, back-biting and awkward tension had caused problems for months afterward. "She said she'd never date within our families again."

"I asked her about that. She says it's different this time. More mature and all that."

"I can't imagine Marty and the word 'mature' even being in the same sentence."

"Hey," he said softly, letting a slight edge into his tone. "She's my sister."

"And he's my brother. She messed with his head, Jay. I can't just ignore that, no matter how much of a problem I might have with him myself."

"They've come to a sort of understanding," he answered. "They were at some of the same holiday parties, and nothing happened. You've been gone for three years, Liz. She's had the chance to grow up." He sighed as he eased the car into an opening in the traffic. "I think she just needed to experience a couple of hard knocks."

She was silent for a long moment before she spoke again. "I take it she has, then?"

"Yeah. You know about Rick, right?"

"No," she said, a surprised look appearing on her face. "What? Is he all right?"

"The head injury's finally catching up with him, after all these years. He has epilepsy and he's —" it was still hard to say what came next. "He's in the early stages of dementia." Jay paused to catch his breath. "Turns out it's been going on for a while, but it's getting worse. They couldn't keep hiding it after he had a seizure right in front of Marty."

"Oh, Jay." She laid a hand on his forearm. "I'm sorry. He's not — how bad is it? Can he still write?"

"Yeah, and he's working on something now. The dementia is progressing slowly. But she still took it hard." There'd been other things going on Marty's life right around the same time, but it wasn't his place to talk about them. "You know how close they are."

"I remember. And I guess it has been a while, hasn't it?"

He took one hand off the steering wheel to squeeze her wrist. "I guess it has."

Liz nodded, leaning back into the seat again. Her eyes drifted closed once more, and he decided to let her sleep. There were still very few direct connections between the interior of Africa and the United States, and she hadn't been able to get any of those. She'd been traveling for at least twenty-four hours straight.

Traffic didn't ease up any, so it was a good hour before he pulled up on the street in front of her brother's building. He double-parked the car, wondering if Liz knew that Tommy didn't live alone anymore.

_Probably_, he told himself. She'd had to have talked to him at least once in the past few weeks if she'd made arrangements to stay with him after getting back. _And if she doesn't know, she'll find out soon enough._

He reached over and shook her shoulder gently. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Time to wake up."

She stirred and opened her eyes. Their blue was just as brilliant as he'd remembered. "Oh. Sorry."

"It's all right. Do you want me to carry your suitcase up?"

"You don't think I can do it?"

"Jennifer Elizabeth Ryan," he began, trying to sound annoyed but knowing the laughter in his face would give him away. "What makes you think that was the reason I offered?"

She unbuckled the seat belt. "There are so many answers to that, and very few of them are polite."

"So? Since when has that made any difference?" Oh, he'd missed this. She never let him get away with anything.

"We're supposed to be adults now," she reminded him, stretching in a way that left his eyes tracing down her body and brought his other senses freshly alert. She had to be doing that deliberately. "Through with college, out in the world a bit at this point. We should act like that. Practice a bit of decorum."

"Like I've ever cared about that before." Reaching over, he rippled his fingers across the strip of stomach her movements had revealed.

She yelped and curled around his hand, grabbing it between her own in order to keep it still. "Stop! That tickles!"

His reply was a chuckle, though he didn't try to take his hand back.

Liz straightened and took a deep breath. "I'll be all right, Jay. You don't want to leave this thing alone while it's double-parked, anyway." Her eyes slid around the interior, which he'd restored to its original appearance. It had taken him months to find the right material to replace the upholstery, which had been ripped to shreds when he first bought the car.

Yet he'd walk away from it in a heartbeat if she asked; she probably knew that, based on the fact that she never had. Sighing, he turned his hand over to capture one of hers and then brought it to his lips. "Take care of yourself. Do I get to see you again before the welcome-home party?"

She laced her fingers with his. "Do you really think that's smart?"

Giving in to an impulse, he leaned over and touched his lips to hers again. It was meant to be a quick kiss, a friend's embrace, but he couldn't help himself. His mouth hardened against hers, and she parted her lips, allowing him entrance, triggering a sharp memory of the way she'd arched and gasped underneath him during that last night before she'd left to start her Corps assignment.

All too soon, she pulled away, sliding her hand free from his. "I thought so."

"Liz —"

"It's a bad idea, Jay. We'd tear each other apart." Her eyes were sad. "And Tommy and Marty proved what can happen when there's that kind of tension within our families."

"I've stopped drinking," he said. "I haven't had a drop in a long time."

"How long is a long time?"

"Five weeks and four days."

"You don't know the number of hours?"

He let his head fall back against the headrest. He did, actually, but that was her point.

With a sigh, Liz shifted so that she was on her knees, leaning toward him so that their eyes met. "That's longer than I thought it would be. I'm proud of you. I'm glad you're still in my life."

"Thank you." The unasked question seemed to hang in the air. If that's true, then why do you keep rejecting me?

She laid a palm against his cheek. "I told you. I don't care how many times you fall. As long as you keep getting back up, I'll stand beside you. But not like this. I couldn't handle it if we were anything more than friends. It'd drive me crazy." She sighed. "And it's not like I don't have issues of my own. I don't even know if I'm going to stay in the city."

_I don't have to, either, if you don't want to._ But he didn't say it out loud.

"Open your trunk," she said gently. "I'll see you at the party."

He did as she asked and then watched her get out, pulling her suitcase up the sidewalk to the building entrance. After she went inside, he closed his eyes again, letting his breath out on a long exhalation. A drink would be nice right about now.

_Really_ nice.

Thinning his lips, Jay put the Challenger back in gear, reaching for the one item of equipment that was decidedly not original: the stereo. He turned it up as loud as he could stand it and pointed the car toward the Interstate. He'd go for a drive. A long one. Long enough to banish the newly-wakened demons and push temptation away.

As long as he was driving, he knew, he wouldn't drink.


	2. June

_Castle_ is the copyrighted property of ABC studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

**A Place in the Game  
**_Chapter Two: June_

* * *

He let himself into the apartment as silently as he could, in deference to the late hour. There had been no lights in the windows when he'd glanced up before walking in. That was hardly surprising, given that he ordinarily would have gone off-shift hours ago. She actually had to be up and ready for a full day before very much longer.

Rory had very nearly gone home. It would've made more sense, but right now, very little was making sense. If he closed his eyes, he could see the suspect wrapping the makeshift rope around his neck again, jumping off the bench before he'd even had a chance to finish unlocking the holding cell door. He'd hear the crack of bones breaking, the final gasp of air.

It was quiet inside, lit only by the glow of street lights outside the window. Passing through the arch into the bedroom, he gazed at the bed for a long time. She was curled up on it, her breathing soft, her face calm. One hand was thrown across to the side where he slept several times a week.

It'd started slowly, a night here, a night there, until it progressed to most of the nights he was off and then even to nights when he wasn't. Just last week, she'd pointed out that he was staying over enough that he might as well go ahead and officially move in.

Of course, that had triggered an argument, and Marty had finally thrown her hands up and gone into the kitchen to cook breakfast. _I don't know what you're so afraid of. It's not like I haven't already seen you at your worst anyway._

She was right. She had. That was a hazard of being involved with someone you'd literally known your entire life.

_And it's not like you're the first cop I've ever been around, either. I may not have actually seen much, but I've heard plenty. You don't have to try and protect me._

Rory closed his eyes and reached for his waistband, shucking his clothes gratefully. He'd changed into a set of sweats, leaving his uniform in his locker, but the material still clung to him, sticking against skin that was clammy with cooling sweat. He tried to tell himself that it was just an early-summer heat wave settling over the city. It was June, after all.

He knew better. Sitting down at the edge of the bed in just his boxers, Rory put his head in his hands and sighed, debating whether or not he should take something to put himself to sleep. He hated doing that, hated the way it left him groggy when he woke up, but there was no way he'd get any rest otherwise.

A pair of hands settled onto the back of his neck. He straightened and nearly spun around, intent on taking out his assailant, before he remembered his surroundings. _It's all right_, he told himself. _You just didn't hear her wake up._

Marty didn't say anything as she pushed up to kneel behind him on the mattress, her hands massaging the clenched muscles, gradually working their way from his neck to his shoulders. She alternated the kneading with caresses, but apparently she realized that it wasn't the right time to try and turn the neck rub into anything more. He needed relaxation, not tension.

She knew him so well.

Why did that scare him so badly?

Closing his eyes, Rory let his head fall forward again and groaned softly. She responded by brushing her lips against the nape of his neck and then rocked back off her knees, one hand trailing down the line of his spine. Her voice was gentle. "What happened?"

He shook his head.

"Rory."

He leaned back and put his legs on the bed, turning so that he could face her. A bit of the light from outside spilled across her, giving her pale skin a golden cast. He opened his mouth to tell her what had happened, about the way the prisoner's eyes had seemed to bug out of his face, but his voice caught before he could even make a sound.

She reached over and touched his face, tracing the contours in the semi-darkness. "Okay."

With something suspiciously close to a sob, he found himself hauling her across the bed, burying his face in her shoulder. Her arms came up, stroking the skin she'd massaged just a few minutes earlier, and he felt the lightest brush of her mouth against his temple. "Sh-h-h. It's all right. I'm here."

He realized he was shuddering, and clung even harder. She held on, whispering words of comfort and endearment in his ear. How did she do that? How did she know what he was feeling before he'd even said a word?

_Because she was paying attention to the way you were acting, you nitwit._

Gathering himself, he gradually loosened his arms until they were simply wrapped around her waist. His breathing evened out slowly. He could feel himself starting to relax and settle down, and she responded to that, too, with a kiss just above his eyebrow. "Better?"

"Yeah." It was soft, but audible.

"Really rough shift," she said into the darkness. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," he said again.

"Anything I need to worry about?"

"No." He'd already given his statement about the suicide and debriefed with an on-site crisis counselor. Since it had happened in the holding cell, the entire thing was caught on camera. The video had clearly showed that he'd followed protocol during the initial processing and then gotten in there as fast as possible when it became obvious what was going on. The suspect, who'd only been detained for purse-snatching, had just been determined.

She studied him for a long moment, one hand trailing across his cheek, before she nodded. Her eyes were sharp and awake, glittering in the half-light, and he knew she probably had a thousand questions. But she didn't ask any of them. Instead, she curled into him. "All right."

He tangled a hand into her hair. "Go back to sleep. You don't want to be too tired in the morning." That was something he hated about working second shift: both of them had a tendency to interrupt each other's sleep cycles.

"I've had enough." She shifted in his arms. "When you didn't call, I figured you'd be late, so I went down around eleven."

"It's only four." Actually, he realized, glancing at the clock, it was nearly five.

"I took a nap around dinner time too." She worked one of her legs free long enough to wrap it around his calf, sliding the bottom of her foot up. Marty's legs, toned and strong due to her tendency to bicycle everywhere, were nothing short of incredible, and something sparked to life inside. He caught his breath in response.

She chuckled softly, nipping at his collar bone. "Something got your attention?"

Rory knew better than to try and deny it, but… "That's not why I came here tonight."

"I know." She shifted again, trailing her lips up the side of his neck, and he shuddered. "And it's not what I had in mind a little while ago. But when the opportunity strikes…" she trailed off. "Besides, it might remind you of something."

"What's that?"

This time, instead of a minor shift in position, she pushed her body clear and gently maneuvered him onto his back. "You're alive. _We're_ alive. And we're together on a hot summer night."

He reached up and tugged on her hair until it fell free over her shoulders, cascading over both of them like a silky curtain. The smell of her shampoo and soap permeated the air; she must have showered earlier this evening. It mixed with the scent he'd brought in from the street, negating it, filling his senses with a savor that was uniquely them.

_Yes_, he thought. They were alive. Finding one of those amazing legs, he pulled her across his hips and then leaned up to find her mouth with his. She responded without reservation, opening her lips to his tongue and sliding her hands around his shoulders. He moved his up her back, under the light shirt she'd been wearing to sleep, drawing it up, losing himself in the moment.

They'd sleep again later.

* * *

"This is getting to be a habit."

His mother's voice startled him; he hadn't realized she was home. Rory sighed, not even trying to hide the open overnight bag on the bed. "I guess so."

Crossing the threshold, she came in and sat down next to it. "I'd have imagined you would have just gone ahead and moved in by now."

Not you too, he thought. "I'm not sure I'm ready yet."

"Will you ever be?" An acerbic edge had crept into her voice. "You're going on, what, six months together? And I don't know a single person who was actually surprised when the two of you finally figured things out in the first place."

That got his attention and he paused, holding a camera lens case in his hands. They were both off tomorrow and had decided to go to the sculpture gardens at the Storm King Arts Center. He wanted to take some equipment with him for that. "We were."

"Really? Why is that?"

"After Marty and Tommy broke up, she very loudly announced she'd never date someone from our families again." He shrugged with his hands. "And it's true that people who grow up together sometimes know each other too well to ever make a good couple."

"They know each other too well to sometimes be _attracted_," she corrected. "I've read that research too. But that's only sometimes, and the two of you don't seem to have that problem." She looked him up and down. "Or am I mistaken about the way you were making eyes at each other the last time she came over for dinner?"

Rory felt himself flushing. Not for the first time, he was thankful he'd inherited a skin tone that was closer to hers than his father's.

"That's what I thought," she said, standing back up again. "So why don't you tell me why you're really waiting? Is it because of her parents?"

"I don't know," he said quietly, going back to his packing. Did he want to take the extra camera body, the one he'd rigged for infrared work? No, he decided. His bag was padded, but that body was still too fragile to withstand a tumble from a bank — and Storm King was too small to tour any other way.

Beside him, his mother made an exasperated noise. "You may be an adult, but you are not too old for me to smack some sense into you."

"Mom." It was an empty threat; he could count on one hand the number of times she'd ever actually resorted to physical discipline, and it had never been without good reason.

She paced around the bed. "Listen to yourself! 'I guess so.' 'I'm not sure.' 'I don't know.' What it sounds like to me is that you just don't want to make a decision. And that would hardly be the first time, would it? What are you so afraid of?"

"_Mom."_ He rubbed the back of his neck. "Please. Today isn't the day. It's…" he trailed off. "Last night was a bit rough, and I'm not in a good place to talk about this right now."

"Yeah," she said, her tone softening. "I heard about that. It was on the news, and your captain also gave us a call. I told him you were likely over at Marty's place. Did you talk to her about it?"

"No, but she's a reporter working the cop beat. She'll have heard about it by now."

"A suspect commits suicide on your watch, and you're letting her find out about it at _work?_ What is wrong with you?"

"She knew I was upset last night!" he snapped back. "It's just — I'd already debriefed, all right? I was sick of talking about it by the time I got to her place. We just…focused on other things." He took a breath. "I didn't want to burden her."

His mother stared at him for a long moment before replying. "You know, out of all the girls you've brought home, she's the one who's probably most likely to be able to be there for you. Why don't you want to let her?"

He turned away, shaking his head, trying to refocus his thoughts. Camera body, lenses, a couple of filters. Did he really need anything else? Packing for a bike ride was often an exercise in minimalist thinking. Thank goodness he had a collapsible tripod.

She wouldn't let him get away with it. "Don't you hide from me. Answer the question."

Rory closed his eyes and squeezed his hands into fists. He didn't dare look up. He couldn't.

Beside him, his mother shifted, and he could imagine her folding her arms and rocking back on one foot, the way she always did when she saw right through him. "It's not Marty at all, is it? It's you. You just can't bring yourself to talk about it again."

"I told you I've already talked to the crisis counselor." His voice was low. "It won't be the last time. We've already made the follow-up appointment."

"Good," she replied, "but you haven't answered my question. Why won't you talk to Marty?"

Something in her tone caused him to snap, and he turned to face her squarely. "Because I don't want to, damn it! I want to have some part of my life where I don't have to be a cop. Some relationship where I'm just _me_, and I'm not getting pushed to live up to someone else's —" he broke off, realizing what had been about to come out of his mouth.

He should have known better than to think it would end there. This was his mother, after all, and she'd never tolerated prevarication. Not even from her own child. "Someone else's expectations. That's what you were going to say. Right? Someone like your father, or even me?"

"It's not like that, Mom."

"Don't you lie to me, either."

"I'm not! I just —" Well, what was he doing if not lying to her, even though the intent was to spare her feelings? "I don't want to start an argument. All right? Not today."

"Mm-hmm." It was one of her classic responses. "If you say so. But don't think this is going to get you off the hook. Sooner or later, you're going to have to face it."

"Face what?"

"The fact that there's a part of you that doesn't like what you do for a living?"

"I like what I do for a living. But there's nothing wrong with wanting to be more than just your job. You, of all people, ought to know that." She'd told him once that she'd been just as single-minded as any other student while going through medical school and residency. It was hard to believe, given her insistence on having a full life outside of the City Medical Examiner's office while he'd been growing up. Lanie Parrish-Esposito had never been just a coroner.

"There's wanting a life outside your job," she told him now, "and then there's using your life to escape from your job. Which one are you doing?"

He had no answer for that. Instead, he snapped the overnight bag closed. "I should go."

"Where? Marty's still at work."

_Anywhere but here._ "She'll be home in a couple of hours. I have some things to do before then."

"Uh-huh." But she shook her head and let him kiss her cheek as he stepped past her. "Go ahead, then. But don't think for a moment that this conversation is over."

He knew it wasn't. "I know. But not right now, Mom. I'm just not up to it at the moment."

"You need to decide when you will be."

Rory grimaced. She was right, and he knew it. _But so am I, Mom. So am I._


	3. July

_Castle_ is the copyrighted property of ABC studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

**A Place in the Game  
**_Chapter Three: July_

* * *

Liz picked up the drink, took a sip, and then hid her grimace in the bottom of the plastic cup. It'd been a long time since she'd had anything like this, and the combination of alcohol and fruit flavors was no longer familiar. Instead, it was cloying and far too sweet, the taste suggesting decadence and excess.

Putting the drink down on the table beside her, she made another face. She had to stop thinking like that. _There's nothing wrong with having wealth_, she reminded herself. _It's how it's created and used that determines whether or not it's ethical._ And while they weren't known for being philanthropists, the Castles also weren't anywhere near unethical.

She should be grateful for their wealth, actually. Income from the Nikki Heat books had helped put her through college; it had made up the gaps the NYPD Widows' and Orphans' Fund hadn't covered. Turning on that would make her a hypocrite, particularly when she was standing in their Hamptons house.

Shaking her head, Liz tried to clear her mind. Today was for celebrating. Out the window and in the distance, she could see Jay and Marty in the surf, splashing water at each other while they played with Alexis' youngest child. Eight-year-old Mickey was laughing and running around, occasionally splashing back at one or both of them.

"Hey."

She blinked, startled. She hadn't heard Rory come up beside her. "Hey back."

He gestured out the window before hooking his thumbs in the waist band of his shorts. "Why aren't you out there with them?"

"Why aren't you?"

"Don't answer a question with a question." His lips quirked into a smile. "It's something people do when they don't want to talk about something."

"If you say so."

"So what don't you want to talk about?"

"Oh, come on, Rory," she answered, accepting that he'd seen right through her again, the way he'd always been able to do. "This is supposed to be a birthday party. Don't bring it down."

"Seeing as I have one of the birthdays being celebrated, I think I'm allowed to say it's okay."

"You're not the only one with a birthday." Alexis' daughter Ellie was twelve years younger than he was, though, and the United States itself was 240 years older. All of the actual birthdays had fallen during the last week, but July 4th was a Friday this year which made it ideal for celebrating.

"You're avoiding the topic again."

"That's because I really don't want to talk about it," she answered. "It's just some thoughts that aren't worth discussing."

He eyed her for a moment before he nodded. "All right."

"Really. They aren't. Just some errant re-adjustment stuff."

"I believed you the first time, Lizzie." He unhooked one of his hands to flick her ponytail.

She batted the hand away, chuckling in response. "Don't call me that. And you're acting as childish as they are."

"Childish?"

With a nod of her head, Liz indicated the scene outside. Jay had picked Marty up and thrown her over his shoulder, hauling her out into the water while she waved her arms and legs. The distance and closed doors meant she couldn't hear them, but she could imagine Marty's mock-indignant protests. Jay said something in response — likely sarcastic — and dropped her in, but she twisted and succeeded in pulling him down with her. Still on the shore, Mickey laughed with delight.

"They're just blowing off steam," said Rory. "Boss Higgins' trial starts on Monday, and she's been assigned to cover it. That's not going to be the most fun thing to watch, especially given that his own son was the one who turned state's evidence on him."

"The man deserves it, though, with the way he was treating his workers."

He shrugged. "The jury'll figure it out."

"Your faith in the system is touching."

That earned her a full-throated laugh. "Now there's the Liz we know and love so well."

_Am I still that person?_ she wondered. She blinked and shook her head again, still trying to clear her thoughts, but it didn't work any better than it had the first time. Needing the distraction, she picked up the terrible-tasting drink and took another sip. At least she managed to hide her expression in a sigh.

"You might not want to talk about it, whatever it is," observed Rory. "But it's eating at you. It could be that you need to talk."

She shrugged. "I probably do. But today isn't the right time."

"So let's talk about something else, then. I was just over with your Mom. Why didn't you tell me that you'd heard from Coverdell?"

"Because the scholarship isn't final yet."

"That makes sense. What doesn't make sense is the University of New England. Really?"

"They're probably going to offer me a full ride. And it's not that far away." Liz shrugged again. "They're just getting started as a partnership school, so they're out to attract students."

"I suppose." He had hooked his thumbs in his waistband again, but while he was looking out the window his eyes weren't turned in the same direction as hers. On the grass near the grill they'd set up, Ellie was talking animatedly to Tommy's roommate while not-so-subtly posturing in a way only a fourteen-year-old would. Clearly, she hadn't understood the euphemism when they'd been introduced.

Putting the drink down, she turned to face him. "Oh, stop this. Out with it."

His eyes moved back to her. "Out with what?"

"Whatever it is you're thinking about me going away to school."

He looked her over appraisingly before responding. "You're trying to escape again. Aren't you?"

"Escape?"

"Oh, come on, Liz. First, enrolling in the Global Studies program —"

"I wanted that! And you supported me at the time!"

"I know you did, and I'm not saying escape was your only reason for going overseas. But then you went into the Peace Corps, and now you're going all the way to Maine to go to graduate school. What's so wrong with staying in New York for a change?"

"My last semester of college was in Brooklyn," she answered, "and then there was that year before the Corps called me up. Besides, we grew up here. I want to try some different things."

"I'm sure it helps that many of those things are _away_."

"Are you saying you miss me?"

"To some extent," he admitted. "You're my sister." It was language all of them used on a regular basis, but for them, it was everything except literal. After her father had been killed in the line of duty, his father had helped to raise his former partner's children. While growing up, Tommy and Liz had been at the Espositos' house almost as much as they'd been at their own.

"I've missed you too," she said now, trying to distract him.

"But there are things you don't miss," he countered. "Like having to be around Jay."

She turned away, hiding in the drink again. He wasn't supposed to know about that.

Rory rolled his eyes. "What, do you think I didn't guess? We all see the way you two act. You're way too proper and polite to each other for something _not_ to be going on." He chuckled. "And that's the first time I've ever found myself using 'proper and polite' when talking about Jay."

"There's nothing going on between us." Aside of innuendo, the occasional almost-innocent touch, and that one night three years ago, nothing had ever happened. She hadn't even seen him alone since he'd picked her up at the airport back in May.

"Not for lack of desire, then. But I'm not sure on whose part."

"It's complicated."

"So why not try un-complicating it instead of running away?" He had worked his way around so that she couldn't avoid looking back at him when he met her eyes. "You know as well as I do that leaving doesn't solve anything."

Liz sighed, letting her eyes meet his for a moment but then shifting her gaze back to the window. "This isn't all about Jay. It's not even mostly about that, okay?"

"What are you trying to get away from, then?"

"I'm not trying to get away from anything! I just…want to broaden my horizons some more."

"Broaden your horizons? Are you saying that spending all those years traveling hasn't already done that? Good grief, Liz. Since we finished high school, you've been gone more than you've been here."

She put the empty cup down on the table; despite the cloying sweetness, she had managed to finish the beverage. "Who made you my shrink?"

He took a sharp breath, visibly biting back the retort she could see in his eyes. "Okay. You're right. I'm sorry. That was out of line."

Liz reached up and patted his cheek. "You're just concerned. I can appreciate that."

He nodded, his eyes following hers back to the window. Jay and Marty were back on shore and had started a rather free-form game of volleyball, using a beach ball and some pieces of driftwood stuck into the sand. Several people had wandered over to join them, including, she was amused to see, Tommy's roommate. Ellie was watching, but she wasn't participating.

Tommy himself came into the game on Marty's side and she greeted him with a comment and a bump on the shoulder. He bumped right back and took the beach ball from her, serving with a control that was remarkable given the toy's light weight.

Rory had hooked his thumbs back into the waistband of his shorts. "I just wish you could be happy, Liz. It hurts to see you so unhappy."

"Unhappy?"

He glanced at her sideways, raising his eyebrows. "You're not really going to try and convince me you're not, are you? Because I know you better than that."

"No, I'll admit it. I'm not happy." She bit her lip, thinking for a while, but came up with no conclusions. Instead, she changed the subject a little bit. "But you are."

"I am?" His expression indicated that he knew what she was doing, but he didn't argue the shift in direction. She decided she appreciated that. This was supposed to be a party, after all.

"With Marty." Liz laughed. "I'd never have guessed that the two of you would end up together. You're so different. She's outgoing and you're introverted. She's an optimist and you're a cynic. You think too much, and sometimes she doesn't think enough. It's the perfect case of opposites attract."

"More like complements," he answered. "We balance each other out in a lot of ways, but we're alike in all the ways that matter."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Overall outlook, what we want out of life. That's not to say we don't argue, but some things are just givens."

"Like what?" It might be prying, but she was honestly curious. Rory's track record with girls was terrible, and he had always tended to shy away whenever a relationship threatened to turn serious. What was different about this one?

"We have the same ideas of right and wrong. We both think it's important to stay physically active. I don't have to explain myself to her, or talk about what I'm thinking. She just…gets it." He slid his eyes back to her. "And we both want to stay in New York."

Since she no longer had a drink to hide in, Liz had to content herself with averting her eyes. "It's not a bad place to be from, but just being from a place doesn't mean you have to stay."

"True enough," he answered. "But there's leaving and there's escaping. Which are you doing?"

"I thought you said that conversation was out of line."

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you."

"There's really no reason to be." She took a deep breath and turned to face him squarely. "Really, Rory, I'm fine. You're right that I'm still looking for a place where I belong, but I'm not running from anything or anyone. And to be honest, I've always felt like that if I came back to New York, it'd end up being permanent."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Which means that when — if — I do come back to stay, I want to be able to say that I've had enough other experience to know that I've made the right decision."

He thought for a few moments before answering. "That makes sense in a way."

"Biddeford's only a few hours away on the Regional. That's close enough for a weekend in either direction." She offered him a smile. "It's a lot closer than I have been the past few years."

A corner of his mouth quirked up, returning the smile. "That almost sounds like a hint."

"If I find the right place to stay, it won't be just a hint. I'd love to spend some time with you."

"What about Marty? I know there's been some tension."

She gestured out the window, where the volleyball game had gotten into full swing. Marty and Tommy were in the thick of things on their side, playing off each other as if they'd done it for years. "You see that?"

"Mm-hmm."

"If they can put it aside, then shouldn't I?"

"That's easy to say. Is it easy to do?"

"Whether or not it's easy for me isn't important," she answered. "Besides, it doesn't always have to be both of you being visited, or doing the visiting. Does it?"

"No," he admitted. "But I'll be honest. I think we're in it for the long haul."

"Doesn't that scare you?"

It was his turn to hesitate. "I'd be lying if I said it didn't."

"But you're still there."

"Yeah." He took a deep breath, and his tone became more contemplative, as if he were thinking about more than just her question. "I am still there, aren't I? Even though it's been a good six months, now. I guess…I guess that says something, doesn't it?"

"That depends on whether you want it to say anything." She wondered whether he and Marty had argued about something related to this. It sounded like they might have.

Rory nodded in response to her statement, but didn't volunteer anything further. Instead, he looked back out at the volleyball game. Biting her lip, she did the same, moving over to stand beside him.

After another couple of minutes, he startled her by leaning over to kiss her cheek. "Thanks, Liz. That really helped."

"You're welcome," she replied. _Well, that's one question answered without me having to pry. They've definitely argued about where they're going._

Moving over to the table, Rory poured two fresh cups of the fruit punch, skipping the alcohol both times. He brought one over to her. "This tastes better without the hard stuff in it. It's a little more hydrating that way, too."

"Thanks."

"I'm heading out there," he said, gesturing toward the beach outside. "Don't stay in here too long, okay? We miss seeing you, and there's sure to be a place for you in the game."

"I won't." She watched him go, thinking about his last words. Although he wasn't the literary type or frequently given to subtext, Rory often was careful about how he said things. There wasn't just a place in the game for her, she knew; there was a place for her here.

But then her eyes fell on Jay, and she sighed. He'd proudly told her earlier that he was coming up on ninety days without a drink, but he'd scoffed when she asked whether he was participating in any formal treatment. How long did he think he could last on his own?

_But who are you to think he can't?_ she asked herself. _You've been gone. He's not the same person you knew before. None of them are. For that matter, neither are you._

Liz took a long sip of the drink, noticing almost absently that Rory had been right about the lack of alcohol. It did taste better that way, although it was still much sweeter than she preferred. But she could adjust without much trouble, if she needed to.

It occurred to her that the same was true about the game outside. The question, she realized, was whether she wanted to.


	4. August

_Castle_ is the copyrighted property of ABC studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

**A Place in the Game  
**_Chapter Four: August_

* * *

When she'd finished furnishing her place, Marty had insisted that it had everything it needed. But she had to admit that the dining set Rory had brought in added a welcome touch. He'd been able to fit it into her main room without sacrificing the seating she'd already put in there, simply by doing a little bit of rearranging.

With a smile, she put four champagne flutes down on that table and then filled each one about halfway with sparkling cider, leaving the bottle in the middle of the table. Each of her guests took a glass, leaving the last one for her as she sat down.

She picked it up and held it as though it were an offering. "To us. The Family of Twelve's Class of '34."

"Oh, geez," said Jay. "Don't talk like that. You sound like Harlan."

Her eyes narrowed in her brother's direction.

Rory seemed to guess what she was thinking. "If we were in a police precinct, that would've been a compliment." He gestured with his glass. "But we're not, and Jay's right. That was pompous."

She blew her breath out loudly, though she wasn't really annoyed. It had been too good of a day to let small things get on her nerves. "Okay, fine. Anyone else have a good toast?"

"How about just, 'to us'?" asked Liz from her left. "Do we really need a label?"

"I suppose not," she answered. "To us, then. Hopefully this will be the first of a long list of times we're together like this."

They clinked their glasses together and drank. Jay was the first one to speak afterward. "That was a good one, but I could've done without the physical labor."

She rolled her eyes. "There was just one set of furniture." Rory had already had a lot of his clothes and equipment here. Today had just made the moving in official, and the majority of time had been spent unpacking and shifting things around.

"Yes, but you weren't the one moving it." He gestured across the table to Rory. "We were. What possessed you to bring in this table and chairs, anyway?"

"My mother wanted us to have it. Besides, it's nice, and it matches the other stuff in here."

Liz chuckled and leaned back in her chair, pointing her glass at Jay. "If you thought today was bad, you're going to be really unhappy later this month."

"Later this month?"

"When I move to Maine. Remember? Or am I going to be stuck doing that on my own? I've got a lot more than just a dining set, you know." Today, they'd managed to move everything using Jay's car, but it had taken some creative usage of rope and driving with an open trunk door. Had there been anything more, they wouldn't have been able to do it.

"We'll be there," said Marty, wondering at the flash of emotion in her brother's eyes. "But I thought you were going to be living in the dorms. You're starting out undergrad, right?"

"I'm over twenty-five. I found a place off campus." She crossed her legs, taking another sip of the cider. "It's right near the beach. You guys are going to love it."

"A place of your own?" asked Jay. "Or will you have a roommate?" That odd look from a moment ago had vanished, and Marty wondered if she'd imagined it.

"All mine, but it's a studio. I'll need to rent a truck, but nothing larger than a panel van."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but you can get a lot into one of those, and if it's a walk-up —"

"It's not like it's here in the city," she answered, and although her tone was still casual Marty could hear a suggestion of annoyance. "Second floor, and we'll be able to park right next to the building door. But you don't have to help if you don't want to."

"Like Marty said, we'll help," said Rory with a sharp look at Jay. "Just make sure you give me enough notice to put in for the leave."

"Labor Day weekend. Anytime between the thirtieth and the first."

"Okay, I'll put the request in tomorrow when I go back in."

Jay sighed. "You're going to hate me."

"Why? You can't do it?"

"It's a big weekend for parties. There's a decent chance I'll be booked for a gig."

"You can't get out of that?" asked Marty. Didn't he have at least some say over his schedule?

He didn't meet her eyes. "Might not be a good idea to turn anything down right now."

She exchanged a brief glance with Rory. First that undertone of annoyance and upset, and now he was talking about bailing out on them? What was going on?

Liz shrugged, although her tone had definitely become sharper and she was sitting straighter in her chair. "Look, if you want to stay in the city and party, you don't have to feel obligated —"

"It's not like that!" he snapped at her. "I'll help if I can. I just may need to be in the city that weekend. I already took July 4th off."

"What, are you punching a clock or something?"

"I just can't afford to skip too many shows." Jay abruptly finished the rest of his drink and stood up. "And you know what? I probably shouldn't stay too long tonight since we're supposed to be setting up later on. I was going to invite you guys down to the club, but if you're too busy with your leisure time, don't bother."

Marty leaned forward. "Hey. You don't need to talk like that. Where are you going to be?"

"Does it matter?" He stalked toward the front door and let himself out, leaving the empty champagne flute on the kitchen bar.

It was a moment before Rory broke the awkward silence that followed. "Well. That wasn't quite how I'd planned the evening to end."

Liz' eyes were on the door. "Are you really that surprised, though?"

"Actually," said Marty, eyeing the other woman, "I am. I've not seen _that_ Jay in a while. I wonder what was really going on there."

"Isn't it obvious? This is cider, not champagne."

She had to bite her lip to avoid a sarcastic response. Hadn't Liz noticed that Jay was serious about quitting the booze this time? When she'd mentioned pizza and beer as her thank-you for helping Rory move in, he'd looked embarrassed and hadn't been able to meet her eyes. But he'd still gone right ahead and asked her to serve something non-alcoholic instead of the beer.

Despite her attempt to censor herself, Liz must have still been able to see something on her face. "Look, Marty, I know he's your brother."

"He's been trying, Liz," she said a little too quickly. "And this time, it's been working really well. It hasn't been like all those other times he said he was going to quit."

"Then why are you making excuses for him? Sooner or later, Jay's going to have to face the consequences of all the things he does."

Biting her lip even harder, she stood up and began to clear the table. "He already has. You weren't here when he got caught that one time." If she remembered right, that was the semester Liz had spent studying in Vladivostok.

"I heard about it. It doesn't seemed to have changed much, though."

Marty took a deep breath to avoid biting hard enough to draw blood. She didn't want this to escalate. Things had been going so well since Liz had been back in town, and she'd realized how much she'd missed the other woman's sarcastic humor and eye for details. The sarcasm could cross into nastiness, though; and sometimes she became incredibly nitpicky.

Not to mention the fact that Liz simply hadn't been here for the last few years. She'd been absent during the most recent of Jay's periodic meltdowns. Who was she to be making comments about them after the fact?

As she finished stacking plates and moved toward the kitchen, Rory's eyes flickered to her briefly. She shook her head slightly and he blinked in acknowledgment before turning back to Liz. "So," he asked. "Any plans between now and Labor Day weekend?"

"Nothing special," she answered, her tone guarded. "Packing. Visiting a few other friends. Resting. I'm taking eighteen hours so I'll be busy once school starts."

"Eighteen? Wow. Why?"

"I'm trying to see if I can do all the catch-up work by next August."

"How many hours do you need, before you can start the PA program?"

"Thirty-six. Plus probably six or eight more in electives."

He gave her a low whistle. "In a year? With most of them being science? That's pretty ambitious."

"It's not like we're still teenagers, Rory," she answered. "We don't need to learn how to manage our time and worry about all the things we used to do outside class. We already know how. Most adults can handle a higher course load when they're attending full-time."

"Yeah, but don't you have to do some pre-clinical work too?"

She shrugged. "It'll keep me busy."

"Or distracted." From her position at the kitchen sink, Marty couldn't see Liz' expression. But Rory's face had turned serious and he had leaned forward to catch her eyes. "Is that what you're looking for?"

"Don't analyze me." It wasn't quite a snap, but there was some bite to it.

"Sorry." He leaned back and folded his arms, but he didn't sound all that apologetic.

"No, you're not." Liz stood up and brought her champagne flute to the counter. "It's getting late, and I should probably go. You're going to want some time alone, aren't you?"

Marty somehow managed to find a chuckle. "Liz, he just moved in. We're going to get plenty of time alone together now."

She didn't meet her eyes. "Yeah, well, I still need to go."

"All right." She put the champagne flute into the dishwasher. "I already know I have Labor Day weekend off. Call when you have your moving plans firmed up, all right?"

"I will." But her tone left Marty wondering if she actually would. She pondered the situation even after the door had closed behind her friend. How had this evening gone so wrong?

At the table, Rory uncrossed his arms. "That could have gone better."

"Things were fine until Jay had to go and stomp out like that." She shut the dishwasher door with a bit more force than was necessary. "I wasn't kidding. He hasn't been like that in a while. I wonder what set him off."

"Liz started talking about leaving."

"What does that have to do with it?"

A furrow appeared between his brows. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" Marty turned on the dishwasher and came back to the table, letting him snag her around the waist and pull her against him. "I could tell I was missing something. What was it?"

"Jay's upset because Liz is leaving again. And I suspect he's part of the reason Liz is leaving."

"Jay and _Liz?_ They've never been involved —"

"Yes, they have."

Dumbfounded, Marty stared at him, utterly unable to think of a response.

He rubbed a hand across his eyes. "It started during her last semester at LIU, when she was staying in Brooklyn."

"Why didn't I know about this?"

"You and Liz weren't exactly on speaking terms at the time, and it's not something either one of them made public." At her look, he continued. "It wasn't a relationship. Jay wasn't even trying not to drink then, and I think at least part of it was that she was trying to convince him to get help. And he — I'm not sure what he wanted out of it, but it was pretty dysfunctional. Not all that pleasant to watch, either."

She shook her head, one hand trailing across his shoulders. She could feel his muscled tensed underneath them. "I had no idea. But it explains why they're so uncomfortable around each other."

"It's why I told each of them that the other one was going to be here today. They both showed up anyway." Rory reached up and tugged the elastic band off the end of her braid, tangling his hands into her hair. She sank fully onto his lap to give him better access.

"If I didn't know better," she said as she felt her hair tumble onto her shoulders, "I'd think you were trying to distract me and change the subject."

"I am trying to change the subject. Jay and Liz need to worry about Jay and Liz." One of his hands slipped to her collarbone, playing with the chain that lay across it. The key at the end of the chain slid against the skin on her chest. "You're still wearing this."

"Probably will be, for the foreseeable future." It would be several years before she dared to release the files she'd obtained this past winter. Given those documents' tendency to disappear, she'd made extra copies and put one set into a safety deposit box.

Rory picked the key up and trailed the edge over her throat, bringing her thoughts back to the present. She shivered at the sensation. "Okay. You're definitely trying to distract me."

"Is it working?"

She shifted so that she was sitting on his knees, her legs straddling his over the chair. "It might be. After all, it's not like we have to go anywhere tonight. We're already home."

He hesitated for the slightest of seconds. "Yeah. We are, aren't we?"

"Hey." She captured his hand with one of hers. "Are you you sure you're all right with this?"

"It's a little late to change my mind now, don't you think?"

"That's not an answer."

Rory closed his eyes and pulled his hand free. "I'm fine."

"If that's true," she asked softly, "then why won't you look at me when you say it?"

He opened his eyes and met hers without hesitation. "It's not this, Marty. Not moving in. It's just…I'm scared, all right? You and Tommy, Jay and Liz. Dating inside our families always seems to be a mistake. What makes us think we'll end up being any different?"

"Because you're not Tommy, and I'm not Liz." She grimaced. "Ew. Brother and sister. That didn't quite come out the way I meant for it to."

"Yeah." He shook his head. "But I get your point. And I'll work through this, all right? It's just a little worrisome. That's all."

"You, scared? You're a cop. You carry a gun."

"Oh, come on. You know better than that." If anything, he looked even more uncomfortable at her mention of his job, though he apparently didn't want to discuss that either.

"And another attempt at humor falls flat." She leaned over to touch his forehead with hers. "Maybe I ought to just stop talking." _At least for tonight_, she thought. But that didn't mean that whatever was bothering him was going to go away. Rory had a tendency to brood sometimes.

She closed her eyes and shoved that line of thought to the back of her mind. It was normal to be nervous. This was a big step. But she had faith in their ability to communicate. They'd be fine.

And someday, she hoped, they'd look back on this summer and think of it as the start of the rest of their lives.


End file.
